Monday, June 30, 2008

I had a landmark experience recently - I was kicked out of a club/bar for the first time ever!

I wish I could say that I was kicked out for some real rock n' roll reason like getting drunk and stripping on the bar but alas, it was lame.

See, it was a Friday and I had been at work all day and then rushed off to the hospital to visit my boyfriend. Afterwards, I met up with my friend, Claire, for a drink. After two gin and tonics at The State Bar, we headed off to Moskito - a place I have never been before and not sure that I will ever go back - for an overpriced cocktail.

Claire and I sat down with our cocktails and were enjoying our drinks when one of the bouncers came over and addressed the Polish dude sitting across from us. The bouncer told him to take off his cap. Confused, the Polish dude shook his head as if to confirm that he was perplexed by the request. The bouncer, in a LOUDER and STERNER voice, again said: "TAKE OFF YOUR HAT" and pointed to his head. Finally, the Polish dude took off his hat and made the universal face for "what the fuck?!"

That should have been a warning for later events.

About half an hour later, Claire went out for a cigarette, leaving me to read some trashy magazine. I started to feel tired and thought, "yeah, I'll just close my eyes for 'a rest' until Claire gets back". About 5 minutes later, I was shook awake by some huge bouncer dude.

"Get up" he requested.

Sitting up straight, I replied, "uhhh...yeah, ok. I'm up. Sorry."

"No, you need to get up and leave" He announced.

"Wha'??? But I'm not even drunk. Why do I have to leave?"

"You fell asleep in the club"

"So?!"

"It's illegal to fall asleep in a club in Scotland. You need to leave"

Totally shocked, I grabbed Claire's stuff and my bag and stormed outside. Finding Claire, amongst the smokers, I screamed: "Claire. We have to go! I GOT KICKED OUT OF THE CLUB FOR FALLING ASLEEP".

Clarie, who has been kicked out of half a dozen bars herself, just laughed and said, "Jen! You are so wild!!!!"

Seriously, I wasn't even drunk - what's the point!? Maybe if the bar didn't play shit house music I wouldn't have been lulled asleep by it.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Monday, June 23, 2008

Glasgow has long been notorious forviolent crime and there are regular news stories provided by the Scottish media and annual studies released to remind us Glaswegians that we live in the apex of violence and danger!

However, news comes this morning that actually, Glasgow is the "UK's safest city".

Huh?

Despite being the murder capital of Europe, Glasgow has been named Britain’s safest city in an international quality-of-life league table. The annual ranking, used by businesses to assess the safety of employees who travel abroad, has ranked Glasgow 43rd out of 250 cities surveyed.

Researchers examined factors including overall crime rates, law enforcement, the city’s relationship with other countries and internal stability.

Cue Ian Davidson, Labour MP for Glasgow South West, who provides a quote for the Times article, thereby "keeping it real" and maintaining our notoriety for violent knife crimes, drug abuse, and so on:

“I am honestly surprised by Glasgow’s ranking. If you conduct a survey on the basis of the city centre, the office district and the posh suburbs where these employees would probably be living, the result is probably accurate. Glasgow is a safe city for the prosperous. This is definitely not the case for the whole of the city.”

Thursday, June 12, 2008

"Welcome to the brave new world of postfeminism, in which life is defined by transactions"

Wow! If you have 15 minutes, you absolutely MUST read this article in today's Guardian called, "Material Girls"; it pretty much sums up everything I disliked/ found hard to swallow in the Sex and the City film (and I am a HUGE fan of the show).

Just one of the many awesome nuggets from the article:

Taking feminism for granted, our standards have slipped, and we permit ourselves to be patronised: a Warner Bros studio head has responded to the success of Sex and the City with "Bring on the sequel, girls." And women everywhere are lapping it up, "because they're worth it," without apparently noticing the narrowing of options, or their relentless superficiality. We're told that women today can "choose" whatever they want: and yet increasingly we are presented with stories in which the only profession they choose is the world's oldest. As Kate's father asked in Blackadder 20 years ago: "Why go to London when you can make a fortune lying flat on your back?" An awful lot of daughters seem to be asking themselves the same question today, without discernible irony. Twenty years ago, Mike Nichols' hit film Working Girl, with its punning title and plot that punished ball-breaking career women while rewarding whispering blondes "with a mind for business and a bod for sin" opened the doors to jokes about what professional women were really working at. But it was Pretty Woman that kicked off the orgy - equating shopping with love, and making heroines out of whores. These stories sell themselves as Cinderella tales, but really they are about the ugly stepsisters who were spoiled, entitled, vain, and shallow. Cinderella was a hard worker.

In a recent survey by Scottish Widows, some 20% of respondents under the age of 24 said that they would consider marrying someone only for their money and to obtain a luxurious lifestyle. This group included young men, and overall the survey found that nearly twice as many men as women would marry for money. So where are all the films about male gold-diggers? The hapless waiter in Priceless becomes a gigolo because he's a victim of love, far too naive and romantic to engage in such meretricious dealings on his own. Meanwhile, Nicole Kidman announced last year that she is remaking How to Marry a Millionaire, the 1953 film starring Marilyn Monroe, Lauren Bacall and Betty Grable, the title of which tells you everything you need to know about the plot. The producers assure us that the story will be "completely overhauled" to keep it in line with modern values. So no more gold-digging? "The original Millionaire was about a girl who was, frankly, kind of fat," the producers explained. "Nicole is thin and perfect."

When I was an exchange student at Glasgow University, way back in 2000 and way before students had the internet in dorm rooms (R.I.P. Maclay Hall), I had a daily ritual of waking up, making a cup of tea, and stumbling down to the common room - in my pajamas of course - to read the papers that were delivered every morning. I was curious and eager to know what was happening back home in Canada.

However, I quickly learned that once outside of Canada, no one really gives a shit about it? Which isn't to say that this world view of Canada is fair - it's not - it's just reality and what makes us Canadians so damn humble, I suppose.

After a while, I pretty much gave up any hope of ever seeing any Canadian news in UK newspapers. Instead, I would go to the Canadian Muffin Company, once located at 73 St. Vincent Street (now closed!!!) and read their weekly/ monthly Canadian news pamphlet.

Can I even tell you Glaswegians how surreal it was to wander around Glasgow, and then stumbling onto some cafe specialising in giant "Canadian muffins", which also had a huge Canadian flag hanging in the joint? Well, it was totally bizarre and somewhat endearing; also confusing because as much as I, and other Canadians, love muffins I thought we loved doughnuts more?

[Interesting side fact: Per capita, Canadians consume the most doughnuts in the world, and Canada also has the most doughnut stores per capita. How are we not the fattest nation in the world then? Apparently, Naura is the fattest - with America in at Number 9 and Canada at 35!]

I digress.

So, you can imagine my delight whenever Canada or something Canadian makes the news. Although no news is good news, I take a perverse delight whenever we manage to make a headline. And apparently Canada is leading the way in two aspects:

I also had a wee chuckle this morning when I saw that the British supermarket, Sainsbury's, would be adopting the "revolutionary" milk bag. Sorry, dudes, but milk has been sold in bags in Canada for about six decades now. Nothing revolutionary about that - in fact, when I first moved here, I was perplexed to find that milk DOESN'T come in bags over here. So foreign!Canada is one of the best countries to live in and this is obviously due to our revolutionary milk in bags scheme. So why are you dragging your feet, Britain?!

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Oh my god! So all you Canadians out there remember that "My Name is Joe and I am Canadian" commercial for Molson that was a huge hit? Well, do you remember it's predecessor, the "Here's to You?" commercial? I do. And for some reason I always loved it- maybe because it featured a Scottish narrator? Why was he Scottish anyway?

Monday, June 09, 2008

From the age of about 10 to 13, I was OBSESSED with New Kids on the Block. I bought all the crap - dolls, pillows, bed sheets, music, t-shirts, teeny bop magazines, books, trading cards and so on. Damn, I wish I had saved it all because that shit would be worth a fortune now!

The best Christmas gift I ever received was tickets to see New Kids on the Block at Maple Leaf Gardens in Toronto. Yes, I have already seen them in concert once - in fact, I was meant to have seen them twice and ever since I failed to see them for a second time, I don't think I ever got over it - which is why I am so keen to see them again.

[Edited details because my Mom got upset - sorry]

So, anyway, I feel I am OWED this reunion tour and goddamn it, they better bring their money-grab of a reunion tour to the UK!

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

Goddamn it, David Mole! That's MY Life Story!

This commercial was released a couple years after I returned from an exchange programme between my Canadian university and the University of Glasgow.

At first, the commercial made me all misty-eyed and longing for Glasgow. And then it just made me pissed. Fuck! Why didn't I think to write to Tim Hortons Headquarters and scam boxes of coffee from them!

About Me

I am a Canadian living amongst the puckered pale flesh and scorching ginger hair of Glaswegians.
After a mid-twenties life crisis and yearning to escape puritan "Toronto the Good", I moved to Glasgow in March 2006.